


how does a moment last forever?

by takemetofantasyland



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24142018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takemetofantasyland/pseuds/takemetofantasyland
Summary: A scar is a permanent reminder of a past mistake. Anya reminds Dmitry that with a little time and affection, it is possible to heal a past wound. Post-Canon
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	how does a moment last forever?

**Author's Note:**

> Me writing another soft post-canon one shot? It's more likely than you think!

Closure was a funny thing. After Anya had finally connected the dots to her past, she seemed less like Anastasia than she ever had before. Dmitry thought maybe this would bring her a sense of peace, but for now she was working through finding an entire lifetime she once only saw in her nightmares. 

It was somewhere between Russia and Paris, Dmitry had gotten to know Anya. He couldn’t pin a location exactly, but the vague memories she sometimes recalled with glassy eyes, her nightmares causing her restless nights along the countryside, the way she spoke of her dreams and was silent about her fears, he knew more about Anya than anyone else—including the Dowager Empress. 

But somehow through all of that, he had never returned the favor of allowing Anya to get to know him the same way. 

He supposed it was under the guise of being a protector. He had made it his duty to keep her safe as they traveled from Russia to Paris. It was unspoken, though of utmost importance. He had promised to get her where she dreamed of going. He owed it to her to get her there safely. 

Occasionally along the way, his words flooded his throat and spilled from his lips, sharing some of the most cherished memories of his childhood with a girl who up until a few months ago had been a complete stranger. It was something in her eyes. The way she looked at him as he told a story gave him a sense of comfort he had been missing for many years. Moments he found mundane she found tender. 

It was when he squeezed his eyes shut and said a prayer as he jumped from a moving train crossing the Russian border that he knew this journey wasn’t about him. It never had been. Though they had bickered relentlessly across several countries to the point where he was sure Vlad had started to pretend he couldn’t hear them, he was in awe of her. The very fact she was able to stand in front of him without fear was a testament to her strength. 

Anya spoke of some of the most chilling memories she could recall without fear and it left him with chills down his spine. 

Talking about the wounds in his life had never come so easy to him. Talking to Anya made it easier.

Dmitry sat on the foot of their bed, running his fingers through his hair as he waited for Anya to join him. He tugged on his hair for a moment and let out a sigh from exhaustion. 

Anya entered the room in her nightdress, the delicate silk framing her in a way that seemed almost unfair. Dmitry’s lip tugged into a smile as he looked up at her. She may not have chosen a life of royalty for herself, but every dress she wore made her look like royalty to him. 

Anya drew the curtains of their bedroom shut and checked that the room was secure. He let her complete the ritual she needed to ease her sleep at night. 

Her fingers grazed his shoulder as she rounded him and crawled onto the bed beside him. 

“Come to bed,” Anya said softly as her fingers pried at him and she kneeled behind him on the bed. She lazily wrapped her arms around him. 

He hummed softly as he tilted his head back to her.

She squeezed her arms around him affectionately and pressed her cheek to his shoulder blade, “Please?” 

She felt his shoulders drop. 

His face was long and tired, and he was quiet. 

Her hand crept up his back to trace the line in his shoulder and her fingers came to a stop at the edge of his undershirt. Peeking across his shoulder blade, just from under the edge of his shirt, was a slight puckering of scarring on his skin. 

Anya had never noticed the scarring on his back before and the blood drained from her cheeks. She bit her lip and sat on her knees beside him, her finger tracing the pattern of his scar. 

He jumped at her touch and turned back to look at her. His hand instinctively grabbed hers to stop her. “Don’t touch– I–” he snapped. 

Anya gasped and retracted her hand. She pulled herself back, and looked at him. 

His eyes met hers and guilt immediately turned his stomach as realization settled into his face, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

She was still as her heart pounded in her chest. 

“Dima,” Anya said softly. Her voice was small, the panic still lingering in her throat from him raising his voice. 

Dmitry was still, his face solemn and his pride stripped away. He caught her gaze and then looked to where her hands were clutched to her chest. His words burned her like a fresh wound. 

He turned his back to her and her heart sank. 

She didn’t mean him any harm. She was only as curious about his scars as he was about hers. 

His fingers reached back and grabbed the collar of his shirt at the nape of his neck, and he straightened his back as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his bare back. His hair was mussed and he tossed his shirt aside.

He ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his back. 

Anya gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth. 

He had a pattern of scarring across his left shoulder blade and down to the center of his back. He sat still as if he was waiting for Anya to approach him again. 

She crawled back to him and sat on her knees behind him, her fingers gently running over the scars that had faded with time. 

He jumped slightly at the tickle of her fingers moving across his back. There was a story behind these scars that was hard for him to tell, even as time had passed. 

It was no wonder he was careful with how he concealed the scars. It was likely intentional she had never noticed them before. 

Anya wrapped her arm around his torso and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. She felt his shoulders soften, and he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of her. 

She pressed kisses along the scarring where it started on his shoulder blade. 

He jumped at her touch but she held him close, a steady reminder of security. 

“What are you doing?” He laughed as she pressed her lips to the line of scars. 

He reached his hand behind him to run his fingers over the scars. His shoulders tensed. 

“Dima where did these come from?” Anya asked. 

He paused as his fingers grazed his spine. 

“It’s not important,” he replied. 

“That’s not fair,” Anya protested as she shook her head. “You’ve seen the scars on my back, you know where they came from. The whole world knows where they came from–“

His shoulders tensed as she retracted from him. 

“It happened a long time ago,” Dmitry said quietly. “It was a mistake I never should have made.”

Anya scooted closer and gently traced over the scars as she listened. 

It was still fresh in his memory. It was late the night he had heard news his father had died in a labor camp, and his mind had wandered so far he began to walk aimlessly around the city in the muggy July air. The thought he would never get to see his father again settled in his mind, and he knew he was now alone. His mother was long gone, his father was now gone, he was truly no one, lost in a big city. 

His heart had raced as he walked the streets he had grown to know so well, and suddenly what had always been familiar felt unfamiliar. 

Lost in thought, he wandered through an alley, unaware he was several blocks over from the back alley he usually passed through. 

It didn’t really matter, did it? Nothing seemed to matter now. He had no one to make proud, he had no one to come back to. It didn’t really matter if he even did return at night. 

A whistle didn’t register with him and he kept walking, his mind slipping in and out of going focus. It wasn’t until someone grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and yanked him back that he realized he had wandered through the alley his father had always warned him never to pass through. 

He took a blow to the face before he snapped to, and his fighting instinct kicked in. 

He swung back, missing any sort of target. His father had always warned him to be careful of who he picked his fights with. 

His father wasn’t here now to know anyway, now was he?

Dmitry was blinded by anger and despair. He swung again, his knuckles popped as he hit the man who had grabbed him in the jaw and he cracked a smile out of his own insanity. 

His knuckles throbbed as his chest heaved.

The man grabbed him by his arm and gave him a hard shove. Dmitry stumbled, but caught his footing, laughing that that was the best he could do

Caught in his own self-assurance, the man balled a fist to throw at him, and hit him square in the jaw. 

“That piece you sold me was a fake, Sudayev,” the man growled. “I’d be in my right mind to turn you into the police.”

“But you won’t,” he taunted as he tenderly held his jaw.

The man snarled as he looked at him, “You’re no better than your father. And we all saw what happened to him.”

Dmitry felt like the wind had been knocked out of him at the mention of his father. He paused and his vision went in and out and the blood drained from his face. 

A second man grabbed him and shoved him to the ground, holding him down with his foot. 

He felt the burn of his shoulder hitting the ground and clenched his teeth. 

“You have no proof!” Dmitry spat. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. 

The men laughed as he struggled. 

He freed himself and used his arms to pull himself back to get to his feet. 

Caught between two ruffians, Dmitry looked for an escape. The only way out was to sprint and climb a gate. 

It was a cowardly move, but at this point he was only interested in his own survival.

His window to escape was quickly closing and he made a run for it, feet carrying him as fast as he could. 

The gate grew closer and he could almost feel the rush of being in the clear. And then–

A blow to his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. He felt the glass of a bottle split and splinter shards across his back.

His chest heaved as he thought about stopping to catch his breath, but he knew if he didn’t run now, he wouldn’t make it. 

His left shoulder stung and he clenched his teeth as he kept running. The slight sting of fresh air hitting his shoulder told him his sleeve had torn. There was no time to worry about that now. 

He grabbed the gate and scaled it, pausing for a moment at the top as he heard jeers from the men running after him. 

He jumped and dropped down to his feet. The sting in his shoulder was distracting as he looked down the street. He seemed to be in the clear.

It was not his proudest moment, but he was alive. 

The scar where the glass had splintered on his back healed in an ugly way, as if to remind him of his own carelessness. 

“If I had been more careful, I wouldn’t have this scar,” Dmitry said quietly as he reached his hand behind him and traced the scar with his own fingers. 

The scar reminded him of how losing someone he loved had turned him reckless.

“No,” Anya shook her head. “Don’t say that.”

Dmitry turned to look at her, “it’s the truth.”

“If it hadn’t happened you might not be here,” she said firmly. 

A soft laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head. His hair fell into his eyes as he dropped his shoulders. 

Anya pressed a kiss to the scar. She paused, her lips against his skin. He reached around and gently took her hand in his and gave her hand a firm squeeze. 

The thought of losing Anya and what that would do to him twisted his stomach with guilt. 

“Anya, you don’t have to–” he began. 

Her lips trailed across his bare skin. 

“No one was there to kiss it better then,” she said softly as she broke for a breath. “So I’m doing it now.”

He froze and his shoulders stiffened.

Anya wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his back. 

“We both have scars we don’t like to look at,” she whispered. 

He softened and turned to look back at her and gently peeled her arms off his torso. With certain fluidity, he pulled himself back onto the bed beside Anya. 

She bowed her head as he fingers traced his torso.

He traced her jaw and tilted her chin up to look at him and cupped her cheek.

Anya smiled softly, closing her eyes as she pressed her cheek to his palm and cradled his hand with her own. 

He tilted his head and leaned in to press his lips to hers. His nose gently brushed her cheek as he left a kiss where he didn’t have the words. 

Her hand caressed his cheek and pulled him back to her. Her lips met his and she desperately tried to keep him close. 

His breath was ragged as she kissed him, desperate to fill his present with affection to make up for where his past had left him empty. 

Dmitry pulled back to look at her. She looked up at him. She was still easy to talk to, even when he didn’t have anything to say. 

Exhaustion had overcome him, and he took her hand and led her to bed. He nestled into bed, cozying himself onto his side. 

Anya curled up beside him, finding her place with her cheek pressed to his bare back. 

He smiled, knowing she couldn’t catch a glimpse of it. 

He felt her lips press one more kiss to his shoulder and he smiled. Her lips against his skin brought a new sense of relief. 

Sometimes closure was just a change of perspective. In the scars he found twisted and ugly, Anya found likeness to her own. A bad memory could last forever, but sometimes the right amount of time and affection could heal it. 


End file.
